Genre
by Just Another Soul
Summary: -"If this were a movie, this would be the part where the killer would attack." - "Silly man... I am the killer." Rotton/Sawyer one-shot.


**Genre**

Disclaimer: Black Lagoon and its characters © Rei Hiroe

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Rotton liked to think himself savvy in specific matters. The world functioned and thrived on unwritten rules and if given the chance, it would be wise to follow them, or at the very least be aware of them. Many of the rules had to be learned by personal experience, by throwing oneself into the threshold of reality, but there were also times when a rule could be known simply by paying attention to the cinematic realm.

Action was his strong suit, and crime partnered alongside the genre well. If anyone were to give Rotton "the Wizard" a high-profile film or a low-budget project dabbling in the subject of bounty hunters, he'd be able to list and identify every rule in the movie. The names of characters, the setting, the plot, they may have differed in those circumstances, but a set of rules and guidelines were always applicable.

In fiction.

The reality of Roanapur never did seem to line up all the way for him completely. He thought he had everything else right. The setting was right, the weapons were right, the clothes were right, the planned speech was right, yet it all somehow managed to go wrong. Everything that would equal the perfect, _cool_ scene would fall apart at the end.

This didn't deter the Wizard, however. He would figure out the formula eventually. At the very least, there was one rule that worked out for him so far.

The kevlar always saved him. He couldn't entirely grasp why the other gunmen in the city refused to wear body armor. The price of a bulletproof vest was cheaper than a stay at the hospital, and it was a much better alternative to dying. In most situations, having the protagonist die from a single bullet wound did not make for an impressive scene in an action movie.

... But _this_ wouldn't be in an action movie, Rotton thought to himself.

The flashlight was the only thing that pierced through the darkness inside the building. He noted the grim atmosphere, the flaking white paint, the rust-colored stains leaking out from the corners of the walls.

Definitely not action, Rotton affirmed.

Horror was not the Wizard's forte. He had seen the occasional classics and B movie over the years, but he wasn't entirely knowledgeable about _all_ the rules that applied.

But, he was aware of a few.

As he moved the flashlight to his left, he saw a dried trail of blood scraping from the center of the floor and leading into a hall. There were a few more like it throughout the building. What was that rule? Something about not walking into a scary place. No doubt that he had already broken that one.

But even if he were to have that rule in mind from the beginning, the Wizard couldn't possibly refuse. It was vital for him to be in that building. He had to enter it for the sake of—

There was a clamor of metal from behind him and the sound of receding footsteps. Rotton turned around and the ray of his flashlight revealed the entrance to another hall. What was another rule? Don't investigate any strange noises? Safe advice for a horror film, but it was not a very _exciting_ option...

He followed the noise down the hall.

Slowly, he came upon a door. He tentatively opened it and moved the flashlight from corner to corner. The room itself wasn't all that strange compared to the rest of the building. It was a small office, a dark green filing cabinet against the right wall as papers were strewn about on the floor. In the center was a medium-sized table, but his eyes were more so drawn to what was on top of it.

A mangled body of a doll, back resting on the table, head facing toward him upside down, limbs out at odd angles, torn striped stockings and black Mary Janes, arms covered by frilled sleeves that matched the style of the short Victorian-esque skirt, a lonely bow in a tangled mess of hair, eyes rolled back and surrounded by deep black lines.

The Wizard leaned down to stare at the doll's face. How strange...

The eyes focused on him.

In a flash, Rotton felt something sharp dig into his neck and drag him around in a circle, throwing his body on the table and pinning him down. He dropped the flashlight and it rolled until it hit the wall. The light was facing away from him, and all he could make out in the dark room at that instant was an outline of a person.

"**PLAY... WITH... MEEEEE...**"

The sharp points crushing his throat retracted, not completely, but enough to give him time to breath. Fully registering the moment, Rotton felt a hand pressing against his shoulder as the other lightly dragged the nails back and forth across his neck. He could feel the breath of the "doll" against his cheek.

Pinned down in a dark room. If it were an action movie, this would be the time to negotiate for his safety, or deliver a snarky line.

"This is one of your odder game ideas, Sawyer." Snark made for a cooler scene.

He couldn't see it through the darkness, but he felt a wicked smile tug at Sawyer's lips above his own.

If this were a horror film, this would be the time the scene would pan away and come back to him being tortured in some barbaric manner. He knew the gothic gamine could certainly do so if she felt like it. As she held him down, the near abnormal strength in her slim arms, acquired by wielding a chainsaw for so many years, reminded him just how deadly Sawyer could be, weapon or not. At a whim, the woman could bat him around like a cat would a mouse and end his life with a snap of his neck, and the fact that they were in the office of her abattoir meant she wouldn't have to travel far to dispose of him.

Luckily for him, Sawyer was in a mood to play, not torment.

He felt her nuzzle her cheek against his.

"**Too bad... Shenhua couldn't... join us...**"

"She'll be back soon," Rotton reassured. The woman was away in Hong Kong working for the week. "You can entertain her with another one of your ideas then."

Sawyer purred at the statement and Rotton's mind drifted. Shenhua, hearing her name brought up another genre he wasn't entirely familiar with. Shenhua was to _wuxia_ like Sawyer was to horror. Martial arts was a relative of action, but some rules differed.

His mind drifted further.

Shenhua was an expert hunter, yet fighting in a red silk qipao and arming oneself with blades in the heat of battle was a trait more often associated with old folk tales and kung fu movies. Sawyer was an elite cleaner and occasional hunter, competent in both fields, yet a chainsaw was by no means a conventional weapon and executing people in a gory fashion, whether to send a warning or not, was a trait that was well at home in a slasher film.

Every once in a while, the women poked fun at his behavior during a hunt, telling him to ignore the nonsense he saw in the movies, but in retrospect, he saw that they had their own mimicries and flair. They were just as eccentric as he was, just in different ways.

There was a small upward twitch in the corner of his mouth.

"**What was... that about...?**" Sawyer asked, feeling his brief smile as she moved her hand from his neck to his cheek.

Rotton's train of thought broke and he came back to reality as Sawyer stroked his face.

Thinking of movie genres, what was that other rule in horror? It was supposedly an important one. You will most certainly die if you have...

He was now fully aware of just how tightly she had pinned the lower half of his body as she straddled his waist. Carefully, he lifted his left hand to slip underneath the frills of her skirt and rest on top of her thigh. He raised his other hand to trail along the side of her arm and shoulder until he reached her neck, gingerly caressing the scar tissue that wasn't covered by her choker-mounted Ultravoice with his thumb. Sawyer didn't seem to mind.

"You know..." he started. "If this were a movie, this would be the part where the killer would attack."

He could feel Sawyer's breath near his ear as he heard her laugh.

"**Silly man...**" Sawyer whispered. "**I **_**am**_** the killer.**"

The Cleaner leaned forward and claimed the Wizard's lips in a kiss.

Rules be damned. There was always an exception.

**THE END**

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**A/N: **There's a moral to this story: If you go into a creepy meatpacking plant at night and discover a spooky goth chick, you can score some kinky slaughterhouse nookie.

If your name is Rotton the Wizard, anyway.

Seriously, if you ever find yourself in a horror film and want to survive, don't do anything Rotton did in this story.

Cheers.


End file.
